Strength
by xoxosararose
Summary: AxI. Integra is targeted and attacked by an unknown vampire, and Alucard is late in saving her. As she is given leave to recover from her injuries, how will Alucard cope with his feelings for her and the knowledge that he has failed in protecting her?


Hues of red and amaranthine bled like water into the darkening scape of the night sky, tinging the battlefield below in a surreal glow. Blood spilled onto the cold ground and reflected onto the metallic sheen of gunmetal, giving the scene an ironic beauty as it was imbued with the rich orange of the setting sun's rays. Much to Alucard's relief, inky blue was rapidly draining into the sky and stars soon began to twinkle from under its cover; the sun was no obstacle for him, but as always, the night was his true element.

It was unusual for something to capture his attention during the daylight hours. Although dusk was yet upon them, his focus had been arrested by more pressing issues than his slight aversion to the sun. He knew that in such a case as this, there would be no time lost; there would be no mercy; there would be no survivors. His preferred game of cat and mouse was forsaken by this point, and he stood with no other goal in his mind other than a repeated mantra: _Death. Painful death. Merciless death. Death to those who would dare harm _her_: my master._

The twinge of her consciousness had jolted him from slumber not moments before. He had sensed alarm, even fear, in her silent call, and he had dutifully come to her side only to find her slender frame sprawled, unmoving, on the ground. The perpetrator stood looming over her and froze upon Alucard's arrival. Alucard bore his teeth in fury, extending his canines as a challenge to his opponent. The other vampire, though of immense stature that rivaled even Alucard's own, was naïve and inexperienced. Without warning, it lunged for Alucard's throat with eyes clouded by starvation. The red-clad nosferatu recognized the blind fury in his enemy's gaze and quickly sidestepped the attack, cloak swirling around his form as he drew his guns and stood poised for battle. Regaining balance, the young vampire snarled and launched itself at Alucard once more.

Alucard raised his guns with a flourish of the wrist, aiming the barrels with impeccable accuracy at the creature's head. Just as his fingers had caressed the triggers, however, the monster's body was shorn apart by the piercing blade of a sword. Alucard lowered his arms skeptically, only to find that while he had been engaged, Integra had crept forward and thrust the blade into the heart of the vampire, wrenching it apart in a last feat of strength. At last, she could withstand the effort no longer and she crumpled to her knees. Although her expression was pained and a wound on her neck bled profusely from under her hand, she stared defiantly up at Alucard. _I don't need your help. I'm not weak_, her expression seemed to be saying.

"But oh, my dear Master," he whispered more to himself than to her after she had finally slumped to the ground. He knelt by her side and let his hand hover over her body, not quite daring to touch her. "You don't have to try so hard to be strong all the time. Not while I'm here."

_Failure_. This word and nothing more spun repetitiously in his skull like a broken record. Alucard knew that Walter had not meant it to be hurtful; the word had simply escaped his lips amongst a torrent of anxious rambling. Still, it had cut Alucard's pride like a knife. There was truth to the accusation: the sole reason for his existence was to serve and protect his master, and he hadn't even been able to do that. If he had failed in his only purpose, his only meaning, then what could he be other than a failure?

Still, his wounded ego would not allow him to succumb to those feelings. No matter how much time Integra spent in that hospital, no matter how saturated with worry his every thought was, he would ever play the part of obedient servant and nothing more; he would not let himself get too close. If she only knew the extent to which he cared for her, she would surely never again turn to him when she was in need. She would spurn his advances, he knew, and reject his help for fear of appearing fragile.

To her, human emotion was a weakness, a burden. She fought so valiantly to hide her own within herself, never suspecting for a moment that her sheer humanity was what drove him to admire—dare he say love?—her so. That she was at the brink of such emotion, yet still retained her strength in the face of it was something he would never understand, and something that had driven him to infatuation. The urge to coax those deep, dark secrets and long-suppressed emotions from her trembling lips was a favorite game of his; one which she wrongly assumed was played for the sake of her own misfortune. Pity, she'd never see how wrong she really was! The life that surged in her every breath, every word she spoke—whether it was imbued with anger, or fear, or hope—was his drug; how desperately he wished to be the object of her passion!

And so, since the day they had met he had always baited her, patiently pulled all the right strings—but he would do so no longer. She could scream at him, she could curse him for failing her; but he would not beckon to her emotions any longer. He would not, could not: for fear of loving her. A dire mistake that would be, after he had forsaken her so. He was not worthy of such a fine and foreign thing as love.

He was suddenly jolted back to reality as Walter rounded a corner and appeared at the doorway to Alucard's chambers. Always ambiguous, the butler's expression gave little away as he gazed at the vampire level-headedly.

"She's awake," he offered simply before spinning on his heel and leaving just as abruptly as he had come.

Alucard inhaled sharply out of habit rather than necessity and stood unmoving for a moment. Human pain rarely had an effect on him but he hated to see his master in such a state. Still, she needn't think he had gone running off after the incident; he knew he would have to face the consequences of his actions—or rather, lack thereof—and he had never been one to flee in the face of adversity. He clutched his signature red cloak and lifted it from its place on the back of his throne, sweeping it around and holding it on his shoulder. With one last trepdiatious glance around his lair, he vanished in a waft of dark smoke and embarked on a visit to his fallen master.


End file.
